How the Multiverse Got Its Revenge by K. Eason

Author:K. Eason [Eason, K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DAW
Published: 2020-10-27T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

—

Thorsdottir was getting worse.

There was no reason for the deterioration that Jaed could detect. They hadn’t encountered any trouble, no fighting, no pitched battles in the journey from jail cell to Vagabond. (One small fireball, a joint test of transmutational cooperative hexwork by him and the fragments of Rose, which had caused a section seal to drop and blocked any pursuit from at least one direction.) Not that he was an alchemist, or a chirurgeon, or, well, anything remotely useful in this situation. He knew what shock looked like, from the mandatory first-aid training, but he was not sure what else was wrong under her hardsuit. He suspected burns, about which he knew very little, except that they hurt.

The contents of Vagabond’s meager medical kit stared back at him. He knew, in theory, what all of it did. The packages were all clearly labeled. He selected an analgesic patch from the kit, peeled it open, and showed it to Thorsdottir. She turned her head obediently and let him stick it to her neck. Her eyes crawled over his face.

“We can’t leave Rory.”

“Shut up and let me do this.”

She did, which was only proof how unwell she was. Thorsdottir should be slapping his hands off and arguing with him. She should be shouting at Zhang. She should be in charge, if Rory wasn’t. They hadn’t worked out a chain of command, but Jaed had always assumed Thorsdottir came second.

He could hear Zhang and Crow talking, though too softly to make out the words. They were probably planning the last few minutes of everyone’s lives. Somehow get away from the vakari ship, and then run straight into Tadeshi dreadnought fire—or Tadeshi demands for surrender.

Or, or. Without Rory on board, Zhang and Thorsdottir weren’t anyone. Rory Thorne’s body-maids. He would be willing to bet (his life, theirs) that no one knew their names. So asking for asylum, aid, from the dreadnought might actually work.

Jaed Moss was, of course, someone. Traitor at the least. A useful bargaining chip, if it came to that.

“Jaed?”

He set aside the rising panic, attached as it was to an unproductive line of thinking. Most likely they would explode trying to decouple from Sissten. Operate under that theory. But to Thorsdottir, as he resumed rummaging ineffectually in the medical kit, he said, “Mm.”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m going to be fine.”

“There’s a Tadeshi dreadnought out there firing on the ship to which we are currently clamped.”

“That isn’t fine, Jaed.”

“No, it’s not.”

“So you’re saying, I’m probably going to die when the ship blows up, don’t worry about the arm?”

“Something like that.”

She chuckled, a dry sound like sand in a bucket, and put her head back. At least she wasn’t watching him have no idea what to do for her anymore.

He stripped his gloves off and clipped them to his suit. You didn’t leave things loose on a ship, in case the hexes went out. Unsecured debris could turn lethal. So could unsecured people. He would have to hurry

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